How It Ends by Catherine Lo (classic novels to read .txt) 📗

of the Ativan. It stopped. Temporarily, sure, but it stopped.

Now I have only three more pills left. Three more days of comfort, and then I have to go back to feeling awful.

It’s not fair.

And then, to add to my stress, I’m completely nervous about seeing Annie again tomorrow. I feel like someone has flipped a switch and made her into another person.

Annie tells me over and over that I’m still her best friend, but I don’t know why she’s pretending. I logged on to Facebook earlier and I’m still reeling from what I saw there. Annie’s profile picture is now a shot of her and Courtney, obviously taken at a party I wasn’t invited to. They’re both making silly faces at the camera and laughing. They look so . . . happy.

She finally updated her relationship status to In a relationship with Scott Hutchins, which is basically like a knife stabbing me in the chest, and there’s a new album titled Annie Loves Scott in her photos section that I tried hard not to open. I failed. Miserably. And now I’ve got a whole series of cutesy cuddling pictures burned into my brain. I feel like throwing up.

As if all that wasn’t enough, there’s a whole bunch of status updates that I don’t understand. Cryptic things like The red ones are better! and Hands off, Larissa! that are followed by a string of LOLs and a bunch of confusing replies that make no sense to me. Evidence that she has a whole other life that I don’t even know about.

Annie used to come over every day. We spent hours together in this room, doing homework, talking, and just hanging out together. I was more comfortable with her than with anyone else in my life. I was just myself, with no pretending or trying to be cooler than I am. It’s like a slap in the face that it wasn’t enough for her . . . that this other world is more compelling than the time we spent together. I know it’s the holidays, but I’ve only seen her once over the break, and that was a rushed visit.

My stomach has been in knots all night, and I can’t seem to calm down.

Three more pills.

Annie

Tell me again that there’s nothing to worry about, I type in the chat window. I’m on the computer in the living room, flipping back and forth between my English paper and Facebook, having a fight/not-fight with Scott while my dad sits six feet away.

You’re being dumb. She’s nobody, he replies immediately.

I’m overreacting. I know that. Scott has been great ever since coming back from vacation. But he added Julia, the brunette from Florida, as a friend, and she’s been tagging him in a bunch of pictures taken over the holidays. I’m a step away from booking a flight down south so I can slap her silly.

Ok. I won’t bring it up again, I promise as a friend request notification pops up. I squint at the screen and read it again, convinced that I’m seeing things. Sophie sent it.

I look up and make eye contact with her across the room. Huh. I hover the mouse over the Accept button, considering.

Can I trust her?

She’ll find out about Scott and about all the stupid stuff my friends and I post. She’ll see pictures from parties and read all my status updates.

But then . . . I’ll be able to see all that stuff on her profile too.

“Are you working over there?” my dad asks sharply. I click Accept and then minimize the window so my English paper appears onscreen.

“Yes, Father. I’m hard at work,” I say, earning a snort from Sophie. My dad raises an eyebrow and Madge looks up from her book. God, I wish I could retreat to the privacy of my room and not have to endure Dad’s version of “family time,” where we all sit in the same room doing our own thing.

The computer pings as a chat message comes in. Sophie.

Wasn’t sure you were going to accept there for a sec.

I smile at the screen. This is a big step in our relationship.

I figured we were ready to take it to the next level. :)

I sneak a peek at her and see that her eyes are crinkled up with a smile. It suddenly strikes me as hilarious that we’re having a conversation right under our parents’ noses. For all they know, we hate each other.

Warning, she writes, I’m about to go through all your pictures.

I’ve already started looking at yours!

Sophie laughs out loud.

“Homework funny?” Madge asks pointedly.

“Hilarious.”

I find an album called Troy and open it. Holy shit.

Is Troy your boyfriend?

It takes her a moment to respond. I look over and see her chewing on her bottom lip.

We can trust each other, right? she types. What happens on Facebook stays on Facebook?

Absolutely! I could get into way more trouble than you for the things you’ll find.

She raises her eyebrows at me from across the room, and I nod solemnly.

All right then, nosy. Yes, he’s my boyfriend. What do you think?

What do I think? My God, he’s the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen in my life. I mean, Scott is hot, but Troy is hawt.

Ummm . . . Wow!

I know, right? He’s so amazing.

He does NOT go to our school.

Obvs. He’s studying fine arts at university.

Whoa.

Yep. Remember—what happens on Facebook stays on Facebook.

Promise.

I click through the album, stunned at Sophie’s rebellion. Here I was thinking she was Little Miss Perfect, and she has herself a secret older boyfriend. A secret older boyfriend who’s also a sexy, tattooed artist.

I find another album with pictures of her with friends from school. Like me, Sophie never brings anyone home, and I realize as I browse through her pictures that I’ve never really thought about that side of her—the fun, relaxed side. There’s this one picture in particular that gets to me. It’s Sophie linking arms with a couple of friends. Her blond hair is glowing in the sunshine and her face is